


Is, Was: Will Be

by mistr3ssquickly



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, I didn't think I could do a story without a pairing, ep iv makes my maternal instinct come out like crazy, luke you poor broken boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:42:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5898694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistr3ssquickly/pseuds/mistr3ssquickly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the age of three, Luke Skywalker was an orphan.<br/>At the age of five, Luke was a knight.<br/>At the age of eleven, Luke was a pirate.<br/>At the age of fourteen, Luke was a soldier.</p><p>At the age of nineteen, Luke is lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is, Was: Will Be

**Is, Was: Will Be**

At the age of three, Luke Skywalker was an orphan.

That wasn’t what his aunt and uncle told him when he came home crying because one of the boys from the Darklighter farm made fun of him for having a different surname than the adults living in his house, Aunt Beru scooping him up in her arms and holding him close and drying his tears while Uncle Owen paced and ground his teeth and told Luke that he was born to parents who loved him more than the sand loves the water that falls so infrequently from the sky, and that it was out of respect for them that he’d retained his name, not taken the name _Lars._

They worried about him, though. Luke could tell, even as young as he was. He feigned sleep when Aunt Beru finished reading to him at bedtime. Slipped out of his room to sit in the hall and look at the stars through the window, hours later, hidden well enough in the shadows that Aunt Beru didn’t see him when she turned out the light in the master bedroom and climbed into bed.

“We shouldn’t’ve listened to old Kenobi,” Uncle Owen said, quiet in the darkness of the house. “Should’ve called him _Lars_ like we intended to.”

Aunt Beru sighed. “Too late for that, now,” she said. The bed squeaked, and Luke wrinkled his nose at the sound his of his foster-parents sharing a kiss. “It’ll be all right, Owen. We can protect him.”

Luke slipped back into his room without making a sound, his dreams fretful, peppered with all manner of monsters he might need protecting from.

\---

Old Ben Kenobi is little more than a shadow in the background of Luke’s life, a side character in one or two of the Darklighter boys’ campfire ghost stories, the old hermit no one really talks about or thinks about that much. Luke’s spoken with him a handful of times over the course of his life, checking on him from time to time during the worst of the heat-waves to make sure he’s all right, once exchanging scant pleasantries with him when Luke was out checking a perimeter scanner just before dawn and saw Ben sitting on a rock, not far away, staring up at the sky.

He’s old and slow and smells like the herbs Aunt Beru puts in Luke’s boots at night to keep them from smelling like a sick bantha, but he’s gentle and friendly and helps Luke to his feet once Luke’s head has stopped spinning, has his wits about him well enough to suggest leaving the valley as soon as possible, guiding Luke to his home nearby. His house is pretty much exactly what Luke would’ve expected it to be, had he ever spared a thought to it: small, clean. Sparsely cluttered with the bric-a-brac of a long life. 

“I have something for you,” Ben says as Luke twists the last wires into place on the ‘droid the Tusken Raiders broke, and Luke is honestly expecting a glass of water or a salt-wafer when he turns around, a gesture of hospitality, the dull throb in his head keeping him from masking his surprise when Ben hands him what looks like a sawed-off blaster, instead. “Your father’s lightsaber,” Ben clarifies when Luke looks at him, confused. “The weapon of a Jedi knight.”

Ben doesn’t look much like a knight, to Luke. But he speaks with the knowledge and confidence of memory, tells Luke the answers to questions Luke has asked his uncle time and again, only he doesn’t tell lies, Luke’s heart aching as he hears the truth about his father, famed star pilot and Jedi knight, for the first time.

\---

At the age of five, Luke was a knight.

He traveled across the barren sands of Tatooine, armed with his sword and shield, battling evil space demons and sand dragons, undaunted in the face of danger as he saved the princess, bringing her back to the safety of the good kingdom, to the kind, gentle hands of her fairy godmother, who kissed Luke on the forehead and told him he was brave and strong, listening intently to his stories of valiance as he sat at the table and ate a cookie, feet swinging because his legs weren’t yet long enough for him to reach the floor.

“Some day,” he told her, “I’m going to meet a _real_ princess, and I’m going to save her.”

Aunt Beru reached across the table to brush a crumb from the corner of Luke’s mouth. “I’m sure you will,” she said. “And then, maybe she’ll reward you with a kiss.”

Luke scrunched up his face and thought maybe he shouldn’t save any princesses after all.

\---

“I’m Luke Skywalker, and I’ve come to rescue you!”

It sounds pretty good to his ears, which are still ringing a little from the firefight and the weird echos inside his helmet, but the princess greets it with a single raised eyebrow and little else. She’s really pretty, even prettier than she was in the holoprojection Artoo showed Luke. A little dirty from the cell they’ve kept her in, maybe, but the smudges on her dress only add to her ethereal grace when she stands and crosses the cell.

She’s also ... kind of _loud._ And bossy. And brave, putting the rest of them to shame as she dives head-first into the stinking rot of the trash-compactor, showing none of the squeamishness Luke feels as she wades through the water, looking for a way out. Luke pulls her close the next time they need to escape, her body pressed close enough that he can feel the heat of her through his clothes, and she’s shorter than he is, certainly, but she doesn’t feel fragile or delicate. She holds on to him with impressive strength and shouts at him with undeniable authority and runs just as fast in a dress as Luke does in his stolen uniform.

Nothing like he expected a princess would be. Better, considering. But different.

\---

She drapes his cloak across his shoulders and stays with him, after they’ve escaped into the relative safety of the _Falcon,_ her small hands a comfort on his shoulder. Luke acknowledges her with a nod, breathing around the pain Ben told him he could learn control if he cleared his mind, if he concentrated.

He can’t. Leia stays with him anyway.

\---

At the age of eleven, Luke was a pirate.

He slipped between the dunes on Tatooine in the purpling light of early evening, as silent as the wind on the ‘hopper he bartered for in what passed for civilization in this backwater wasteland he’d chosen to visit, seeking treasure, his eyes sharp as he followed the ancient map to the X that marked the spot where he’d need to dig and dig and dig, until his spade touched metal, hard and unyielding. And then the treasure was his, _all_ his, with little more than a scant layer of metal sitting between him and the prizes tucked inside. He picked the lock with the ease of long practice and lifted the lid, excitement thrumming under his skin as he solved the puzzle locking away the treasure within, fingers moving fast over the wires and connectors until there was a _click_ and the treasure chest opened, glowing brightly in the sinking light of day, revealing to Luke’s greedy gaze --

“Got that regulator opened up, Luke?”

Luke closed the panel, clicked it into place. “Yeah. I fixed it already. Just a few of the wires loose, was all.”

Uncle Owen ruffled his hair in a rare show of affection. “Not bad,” he said. “You’re getting fast at this stuff. I’ll be out of a job with you around if I’m not careful.”

\---

“I’m Han Solo. Captain of the _Millennium Falcon.”_

And he’s everything a space pirate should be and _more,_ confident and mysterious and roguishly handsome, just enough of a scoundrel as he leans across the table with a casual sort of dominance as he talks pricing and conditions with Ben to add a distant thrill of distrust to the conversation. Luke can’t keep his eyes off of him, his gaze drifting from the uneven slant of Han’s mouth to the vee of bare chest exposed where his shirt’s unfastened, muscle and dark curls visible against the light fabric. He’s everything Luke dreamt of being, daydreaming on the moisture farms, strong and lawless and free.

Until Luke gets a look at his ship, a clunky old freighter barely held together with mismatched pieces, sitting dusty in the docking bay. Then he’s just another swindler, a liar and a thief and a crook who stole from old Ben (and Luke) and Luke isn’t interested in putting up with it.

He does, only because he’s being shot at, which is a first for him and not nearly as thrilling as he’d imagined it might be, playing Stormtroopers & Pirates with the Darklighter boys. Fear and adrenaline rush him as they make their escape, pushing his stomach into his throat as he sees space for the first time, up close and personal as the _Falcon_ launches them away from Tatooine, the only home Luke has ever known. His stomach rises up in mutiny when Han punches the hyperdrive and sends them to lightspeed, stars and darkness smearing across the viewscreen, blurring around them. He’s breathing hard when he tears his eyes from the sight to steal a glance at old Ben, his heart pounding, but embarrassment is quick to take over when he sees that Ben is calm, staring out at the stars as if he’s looking across the Dune Sea, not seeing the galaxy streaking past at impossible speed.

“A Jedi must learn to control his feelings,” Ben says gently when Luke looks away, angry at Ben and himself and Han and the universe in general. “Come, let me show you some exercises that might help.”

\---

At the age of eighteen, Luke was bored.

He was tired of the monotony of farm life, tired of fixing ancient equipment that was broken more often than working properly, tired of haggling with Jawas over the junk his Uncle Owen insisted on buying. His friends had all moved on, the ones he knew would make a difference with their lives all enlisted with the Imperial Army or enrolled at the Academy. The company he found at Tosche Station was all right, better than sitting at home in the pit of nothingness and boredom, but it was its own brand of dull, didn’t have any of the excitement or adventure or challenge Luke wanted. Craved. _Deserved._

Uncle Owen argued with him about it, over and over and over again. Aunt Beru gave him sympathetic looks, but never backed him up until she thought he was out of earshot. None of that surprised Luke. To his all-knowing eighteen-year-old mind, they were little more than two hicks, happy to live out their lives in the middle of nothing. Happy to keep him where he was, suffocating. Wasting his life, his potential.

He complained about it to the latest junk Uncle Owen bought. Didn’t care that neither of them could possibly understand his suffering.

\---

He regretted it the day following.

Ben squeezed his shoulder and said they were probably killed instantly, didn’t suffer much, if at all. Luke turned away so the old man wouldn’t see him cry and hoped, harder than he’d ever hoped for anything else, that Ben was right.

\---

At the age of fourteen, Luke was a soldier.

He rose early to train, going through the routine one of the older Darklighter boys showed him, press-ups and sit-ups and lunges and kicks and punches that made his muscles tired in the morning and sore in the evening, but he was getting stronger, faster, so he didn’t mind. He ate his rations in the mess-hall, fast enough that the Lieutenant General ordered him to slow down and _chew,_ her voice inappropriately tinged with amusement, and Luke obeyed only because she out-ranked him. The second sun was barely peeking over the horizon when he armed himself and left for patrol, alert and at the ready for combat at a moment’s notice. Overhead there was nothing but blue sky and piercing sun, but outside the atmosphere, the thick blanket suffocating the planet, Luke _knew_ there was a whole universe, full of the stars he could see when he was on third shift watch, streaked across with ships, with A-Wings and TIE-Fighters, the glorious Imperial Army just waiting for him to come and rise through the ranks. To pilot their ships to victory across the far stretches of the galaxy.

The General came to him with new orders at midday, gave him the strangest look when Luke snapped to attention and said _yes, sir!_ in response. Probably impressed, Luke told himself as he boarded his ‘hopper and set out to see to his duties. Seeing, finally, why Luke wanted so badly to go to the Academy, just as soon as he was of age.

\---

The Rebel Alliance is more organized than Luke expects a group with “rebel” in the name to be, his name marked down in a registry when he first arrives, his knowledge tested, skills reviewed. He gets a call-sign and a uniform and an X-Wing, a little battered but _his,_ all the same, Artoo whistling at him happily as he confirms with the engineers that he’ll fly with no other ‘droid. He attends the briefing and does his best to memorize the strategy he’ll be following with the others. Shakes hands with the members of his group, does his best to memorize their names, not just their call-signs. Heroes-to-be who matter, not just because they’ll be Luke’s shield, his brothers in arms.

Han’s staunch refusal to be like the men in Luke’s squad is more than Luke can take, his temper boiling over when Han staunchly refuses to help out with the run on the _Death Star,_ even though he’d have to be blind, stupid, and possibly _dead_ to not see how desperately he’s needed. He’s a smuggler, a scoundrel through and through. Doesn’t care about anyone but himself.

“Hey, Luke,” Han says after Luke’s spat _that_ particular epithet at him and is stalking away, struggling to recall the exercises Ben taught him for inner peace. “May the Force be with you.”

Luke nods, words drying up in his mouth, and walks away, inner peace creeping unbidden into his heart like ice.

\---

At the age of nineteen, the battle is won, Luke is lost.

He sits between Han and Leia, fidgeting with the cup of Corellian ale Han pushed into his hand with a _you earned it, kid,_ the sound of celebration washing over him like hot desert air, pilots and politicians and engineers all gathered together, indulging in the brief joy of victory. His heart aches in his chest, throat burning when he chases the ache with a curious sip of ale, the taste bitter on his tongue. He takes another drink, and it’s better than the first. As good as the next.

“What do we do next?” he asks Leia once his cup is almost empty and his head is buzzing, keeps his voice low, all at once wanting her to hear him and not hear him, wanting her answer but dreading her response all the same.

Leia lifts her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “General Rieekan’s men are monitoring the Empire’s channels,” she says, “but for the short term, we’ll evacuate the base here, move on to another location.” She looks up at Luke, dark eyes reflecting the ache he feels, souring the joy in the room. “It’s going to be a long fight.”

Luke swallows the last of what’s in his cup. “I’ll help,” he says. “I want to help.”

Leia slips her hand into his and squeezes, her fingers small and strong around his. “Thank you,” she says. “We can use all the help we can get.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I see when I watch _Ep IV: A New Hope._
> 
> Additional chapters might happen. Have to see where the muses push me.


End file.
